


Do Your Thing (Make My Body Sing)

by sarkastic



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-13
Updated: 2010-01-13
Packaged: 2017-10-06 05:53:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarkastic/pseuds/sarkastic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Celebrating a victory, Stevie and Xabi-style.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do Your Thing (Make My Body Sing)

The team's drinking together in a pub, celebrating their latest victory, when Xabi leans over and places a hand on Stevie's thigh underneath the table where no one else can see it and whispers, "I've been wanting you to fuck me ever since you scored that second goal. Could you tell?"

Stevie nearly sprays his pint all over a wildly gesticulating Carra and a completely wasted Torres. He takes one look at Xabi's mischievous grin and knows that if they don't get out of there _right now_ something very damaging to his public image will end up bent over this very booth and fucked senseless.

He pushes a smug Xabi out of the seat and slides out after him. In a voice that's perhaps a bit more obviously strained than he would've liked, he announces, "Xabi needs to pick something up from, uh, Melwood. That he left there. Last week. So I'm going to take him."

Luckily, everyone's already so drunk, they don't seem to notice the fact that this makes no sense. Pepe shrugs and says, "Who knew Melwood was open on Saturdays at one in the morning?" If Stevie's not mistaken, that was a _wink_ he saw at the end of that question and dear god, they need to leave before someone else starts picking up on things and making inappropriate gestures.

They receive a rowdy drunken cheer as they make their hasty exit into the frigid night. Xabi manages to hail a taxi and Stevie slides in after him into the stale warmth of the car. Their legs press up against each other and Stevie completely misses whatever directions Xabi gives. When Xabi lets them into his flat, Stevie vaguely recalls something about his girlfriend being away visiting family for the week.

Once they're inside, Xabi leads him to the bedroom and gently pushes him into the wall with a hand on his shoulder. He slowly, deliberately drops to his knees, never breaking eye contact with Stevie the entire time, and grins up at him. Stevie honestly didn't know that a smile could be hotter than porn. Xabi runs his palms up Stevie's thighs and just barely misses the growing bulge in his pants as he settles on Stevie's hips. But he appears to be content to just kneel there and deeply contemplate the many spiritual meanings of Stevie's hard-on or some bloody thing and Stevie may go insane soon if Xabi doesn't do _something_.

Xabi just smirks up at him, the evil bastard, and says, "Was there something you wanted, Steven?"

Oh, so that's how it is, then? Stevie cups one freshly shaven cheek in his hand and looks into Xabi's eyes as he says, "I want your mouth on me, _Xabier_. And then I want to push you onto that bed and fuck you so hard that you feel me inside you all week."

Heat flares in Xabi's eyes and, yeah, Stevie can give as good as he gets in that game. Xabi's voice is gravelly when he says, "_Por qué_ –ah, _why_ didn't you just say so?" He attempts a somewhat impressive smirk but the thick accent is a dead giveaway – Xabi slowly devolves into frenzied, incomprehensible Spanish the more turned on he gets; he'd once asked Pepe what a few of the words meant but received only an impressed hoot and a hearty pat on the back as answer.

Stevie rolls his eyes and starts to undo the buttons on his trousers, but Xabi slaps his hands away and says simply, "No." He places each of Stevie's hands on the wall behind him and glares up momentarily as if to say _stay or I won't pet you_. Stevie is more than willing to be obedient right now. He learned long ago that the benefits of humoring Xabi make losing the pretense of control very, very worth it.

After a few more frustratingly chaste touches designed solely to drive him mad, Xabi practically rips his trousers and pants down in a sudden burst of rather startling vigor. And before Stevie can recover and demand retribution for his ruined clothing, Xabi's taken him all the way to the root, his cheeks hollowed as he sucks him in.

"Bloody fucking _Christ_, Xabi," Stevie moans when he remembers how to think.

Xabi doesn't stop to respond (thank God), he just pulls off slightly and licks and teases and actually _slurps_ with these obscene noises until the only thing holding Stevie back from fucking his mouth is the hands on his hips. And then mouth and hands are gone and Stevie is almost groaning in protest too loudly to hear Xabi say, "I like it when you fuck my mouth, Stevie. We'll have to do that sometime. But, you know, hardwood floors are not the most comfortable places to kneel."

It takes Stevie mind perhaps a bit longer than necessary to catch up to that. "….Right. Bed. That'll be a lot softer on your knees."

Xabi huffs slightly at that but lets Stevie help him to his feet. They take a moment to get himself and Xabi completely naked. He notices a large purple bruise on Xabi's left arm that he didn't have before, remembers with perfect clarity his jarring fall after a nasty tackle during training. Stevie doesn't think, just dips his head and kisses the darkened skin lightly, laving it softly with his tongue. Xabi breathes in sharply and curls his fingers around Stevie's hips in a mirror of their earlier position. When Stevie looks up Xabi has a softly wondering look on his face, like Stevie's some amazing creature he's never seen before. Stevie cups his face and kisses him hard to keep both of them from saying something embarrassing.

He walks Xabi to the bed without breaking the kiss then pushes him down abruptly. He didn't think he could get any harder, but his cock swells at the sight of Xabi laid out like a feast on the crisp white linens, holding Stevie's gaze as he spreads his legs as easily as he'd opened his mouth to him earlier, as he always opens himself so willingly to let Stevie take whatever he needs.

"Are you going to stand there with your mouth gaping all day or are you going to fuck me?" Xabi asks him pointedly, then adds, "It's okay if you can't, I know how you Englishmen have trouble with stamina."

And there is _no way_ Xabi is going to get away with that, and he knows it. Stevie pounces, holding Xabi's body down with his hips, pressed cock to cock. They both gasp, but Stevie still manages to grab hold of Xabi's wrists and pin them above his head. He smirks down at Xabi, who's attempting to look innocent while at the same time writhing around in an attempt to get some friction on his cock.

"And what – ah, Xabi, _fuck_ – what Englishmen have you been shagging that you've noticed a problem?" It is incredibly difficult to act stern with a horny, squirming Spaniard underneath you. "Because if I remember correctly, the last time _I_ fucked you, you screamed through half of _Doctor Who_."

Rather than admit defeat, Xabi stretches up to meet Stevie's lips and _licks_ his way into his mouth. The kiss is obscene and agonizing and apparently the perfect opportunity for Xabi to flip Stevie onto his back and straddle him.

He smiles down beatifically as he says, "Enough talking, Steven."

And then he's lifting Stevie's hand to his mouth and sucking on each individual finger like it's the most amazing fucking cock in the world. Xabi raises himself up onto his knees and then suddenly two of Steven's fingers are fully inside that tight heat. Xabi has a fierce grip on his wrist, relentlessly fucking himself on Stevie's hand. Stevie shakes himself out of his _dear god I have taken up with a sex-crazed deviant stupor_ long enough to crook his fingers and find _that spot_ and get Xabi howling and fucking down even harder.

Stevie takes advantage of Xabi's momentary distraction and flips them just like Xabi did earlier, settling between Xabi's thighs. Xabi protests when he removes his hand to blindly grope in the drawers for lube and condoms, but Stevie silences him with the kind of adoring, possessive kiss that he knows Xabi understands as a language all its own and that he can never quite stop himself from giving when he's around Xabi very long. The kind of kiss that's as breathtaking as a sprint down the pitch, as intimate as fucking, and more meaningful than the words Stevie isn't quite sure he knows how to say.

When they break apart, Stevie rests his forehead against Xabi's, breathing heavily, as Xabi leaves a smattering of soft, chaste kisses on his eyelids and nose and chin, anywhere he can touch with bruised lips – and Stevie hopes he understands what Xabi's trying to tell him with this better than he understands soft, whispered bits of Spanish that he occasionally hears in the middle of those rare nights they have together. Sometimes Stevie thinks it's unfair that Xabi has a language of his own that he can use to let his thoughts spill out without consequence. But then again, Stevie always realizes, in the hands of certain people, Scouse could be used to successfully encode state secrets.

He's brought out of his momentary reverie by Xabi softly laughing at him and pointedly looking at his right hand still lying in the drawer. Xabi sticks his hand in the drawer and places the necessary items in Stevie's hand with an amused smile.

"C'mon, _capitán_," Xabi urges as he rolls his hips up.

The friction causes a momentary blackout but doesn't stop Stevie from inwardly flinching at the use of his title. He frowns. "Xabi… you're sure?" He has to ask. He knows the answer, but he can't _not_ ask, even if they've done this countless times.

Xabi groans in frustration, grabs Stevie's face between his hands and says, "_Yes_, Steven, I am sure I want you to fuck me. If you were not my captain and instead an impoverished Championship manager who only wanted me for my playmaking skills, I would _still_ want you to fuck me."

Well, Stevie doesn't need to be told twice. He makes quick work of the preparation and enters oh-so-slowly into warmth and tightness and - at that moment and like every one before it - fucking perfection. It takes all his self-control not to just slide to the root and start pounding away. Xabi hisses a little in pain but only wraps his legs around Stevie's waist when he looks down at him questioningly. After a few moments his face clears and he pulls Stevie completely inside him in one sudden burst of movement.

"Please, Stevie, _move_," he begs and Stevie has never encountered a time in his life when he could deny what Xabi asked of him.

He rises up on his arms braced on each side of Xabi's shoulders and pulls almost all the way out, then pushes back in so hard he nearly slams his forehead against the headboard. He moves around experimentally until he finds the spot that makes Xabi thrash and beg and moan like he's being paid for it, then he pulls back and hits it with every forceful thrust. The knowledge that he's the one unwinding Xabi's perpetually elegant and imperturbable demeanor, that Stevie's the only one that Xabi opens for like a flower to the sun - that nearly brings Stevie off right there.

Xabi starts moving his hips up to meet his thrusts and Stevie knows he won't hold on much longer. He wraps his hand around Xabi's cock and pulls just a little too roughly, exactly how Xabi likes it. Xabi looks him straight in the eye and breathes out, "_Stevie_" and comes in his hand as his body clenches around Stevie's cock and nearly undoes him.

Stevie barely holds himself back while he waits for Xabi to come back to reality. He slowly blinks his eyes open and makes a soft "oh" sound when he moves his hips and feels Stevie still hard inside him. He smiles up and grabs the headboard, saying, "Well, what are you waiting for?"

The words send him pounding into Xabi, and he can't control himself from turning this into an all-out bed frame-rattling, headboard-slamming _fuck_ that he knows he'll see in Xabi's every tender step at training tomorrow, distracting him and spurring him on at the same time, like everything to do with Xabi. His thrusts become erratic far too quickly and with one last desperate drive into Xabi's body, he comes hard enough that he sees liver birds.

When he comes to, he's lying on top of Xabi, fingers combing gently through his sweat-soaked hair. He rolls off reluctantly and collapses next to Xabi, who continues to pet him, a happy grin on his face that he's sure matches his own. Stevie throws an arm across Xabi's waist and pulls him close, burying his face in sweat-slicked skin that smells like pitch and sex and Stevie.

As he's drifting off to sleep, he hears a barely audible, "_Te amo_, Stevie."

Stevie lifts his head to look at Xabi. "Hey, I understood that one."

Xabi just smiles and says, "I know."


End file.
